


‘Beats an apple, I suppose.’

by Crowgirl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Demons, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ice Cream, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 17:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: ‘Beats an apple, I suppose.’





	‘Beats an apple, I suppose.’

‘Do you think you’ll be redeemed? Hanging out with an angel all the time? Is that what this is?’

Crowley very carefully neither starts nor freezes nor looks round. ‘Pardon?’ He keeps his eyes fixed on Aziraphale -- across the groomed lawn of St James’ Park, Aziraphale is holding court near an ice cream cart, the center of a circle of delighted children and an equally pleased although somewhat confused ice cream seller who doesn’t remember putting all these things in her cart when she set out that morning.

‘Oh, relax. This isn’t official,’ Dagon says, a slight rustling and strong odor of fish accompanying him sitting down beside Crowley. ‘We’re just curious.’

Crowley pulls his arm off the back of the bench. ‘Who’s _we?’_

Dagon shrugs with a squashy sound. ‘Me, Beelzie, a bunch of the lads. You know. We want to know why you did it. Do it. Whatever.’

Crowley -- and, presumably, Dagon although Crowley does not turn his head to see -- watch Aziraphale wave the bulk of the children away down the path and turn back to urge forward a gangly girl, too thin for her limbs, who has been hanging back at the turn of the path the whole time. She comes forward a reluctant step or two at a time and Crowley thinks he knows how she feels. By the time she reaches the cart, she isn’t looking at it so much as she is at Aziraphale who is smiling at her, one hand outstretched to touch her shoulder. 

‘So? Why d’you do it? Can’t be for the excitement.’

Crowley watches Aziraphale draw the girl forward -- it doesn’t take a lot of extra effort for him to read her anxiety: she’s fourteen, too tall, too interested in languages, too interested in one of her classmates, isn’t she supposed to be interested in boys, isn’t she supposed to be interested in makeup, isn’t she supposed--- He cuts off her mental soundtrack with a silent sigh. Listening to humans is so bloody exhausting; he doesn’t know how Aziraphale does it. ‘And what would you know about excitement, oh Lord of the Files?’

‘I’ll have you know that proper records administration is a vital part of any forward-thinking organisation!’

‘Then why don’t you get back to it?’

‘Because I want to know _why--’_

‘Because I love him.’ Crowley doesn’t quite _mean_ to say that but once he has -- it feels unexpectedly -- freeing. Saying that straight to a fellow demon’s face -- well, a fellow demon’s _shoulder_ anyway. ‘All right? Is that enough? No redemption, nothing to do with _any_ of you. Just -- him.’

Dagon makes a breathy sound, sort of a combination of being punched in the gut and surprised by a squirrel, and there’s a blast of fishy air that marks his disappearance. 

Crowley shoves himself off the bench and ambles his way across the intervening lawn, arriving at Aziraphale’s side just as he waves off the girl, looking no less introspective but with something of the metaphysical dark clouds that had been hovering around her head lightened -- and a lemon sorbet. 

Aziraphale transfers his smile from the girl’s retreating back to Crowley. ‘It’s so simple, sometimes.’

‘What is, angel?’ 

‘To make them happy.’

‘A chocolate cornet and self-knowledge? Beats an apple, I suppose.’

Aziraphale _tsk_ s and turns back to the ice cream seller. ‘Two, please.’ The woman hands out two chocolate cornets with a slightly bewildered but genuine smile, closes the freezer lids, and begins to roll her cart down the path. Crowley strongly suspects that when she goes to balance her income that night she’ll find herself mysteriously several zeroes to the good. 

Aziraphale turns back to him, holding out one cornet. ‘Your favorite, my dear.’

Crowley takes it. ‘Not yours, though,’ he says, nodding at the one Aziraphale is still holding.

Aziraphale shrugs. ‘You’ve given me a taste for them.’

Crowley takes a bite of his and leans forward; Aziraphale meets him halfway with no hesitation and licks his lips after Crowley draws back. He smiles brightly. ‘Yes, quite delightful.’ 


End file.
